


they put me in the ground but i'm back from the dead

by cosmicpoet



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Birthday, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 13:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13365897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicpoet/pseuds/cosmicpoet
Summary: It's Saihara's birthday, and he's fully expecting to celebrate it alone. That is, until Amami comes to his door.





	they put me in the ground but i'm back from the dead

Saihara turns over in bed and presses his nails against the faded scars on his arms. It’s been long - so long - and the flashback lights have interfered with his memories; it’s all a bit cloudy, and it hurts like hell to try and recall. Logically, he understands that, at some point, he must have hurt himself, but he can’t recall exactly when, or why; he only remembers how it felt, and it’s a feeling he craves. Especially now, as the clock ticks towards midnight, and he realises, with an acidic feeling in his gut, that he’s now nineteen.

Nineteen years old, and still letting his friends suffer in this hell. _‘Pathetic,’_ he thinks, chastising himself for being so useless. Thankfully, nobody has died, but the word _‘yet’_ hangs like thick tar in his mind; it’s only a matter of time before somebody succumbs to the inevitable despair of being a prisoner of their own talent.

More than anything, he just wants to be with somebody on his birthday. It’s not an unreasonable thing to ask, but he’d rather the rest of the students of the Ultimate Academy didn’t know that it was a special day for him. After all, they have mysteries to solve, and he’s never really celebrated his birthday anyway; his parents shunned him, his uncle was too busy, he never had friends.

No - Saihara is destined to be alone. He thinks of this as he desperately wishes that he could open up the scars on his arms again. Even as he turns nineteen; he remembers a childhood wish - that he would never make it to twenty years old.

Gasping for the air of reality, he pushes himself off his bed.

Nothing, he thinks, will make him feel better right now. He doesn’t even _want_ to leave the killing game; he knows that the only reprise for him now is to be murdered, and let darkness take a crippling hold of him, as he slips into nothingness and feels the waves of sensory deprivation wash over him and -

_‘Stop,’_ he tells himself. This simple word; meaning nothing, signifying everything. But this isn’t something he can push away, not any more - he’s desperate, choking, grasping for some form of validation.

Saihara turns nineteen, and reflects on another year alive in a wasteful body, dragging itself through dirt and terror until a bitter, unsatisfactory ending.

There’s a knock on his door, and for a moment, he’s startled - he isn’t expecting anybody, so this comes completely out of the blue for him. His initial reaction is one of fear - he worries that somebody is coming to hurt or kill him, but then he realises that he wouldn’t particularly mind that. He opens the door - hoping that he’s vulnerable.

Amami stands there; no weapon is in his hands.

“Saihara,” he says, “may I come in?”

“O-Oh,” Saihara replies, “yes. Of course.”

Amami enters, and sits down upon Saihara’s bed without being prompted to do so. Saihara is still standing, hanging by the door like he hopes somebody will pass by his doorway and hurt him.

“You should, uh, shut the door,” Amami says. Reluctantly, Saihara does so.

“Listen, Saihara,” Amami says, again, “I know it’s your birthday.”

“H-How?”

“Well…I trust you, but you have to promise not to tell anybody what I’m about to tell you.”

“I promise.”

“Okay, so…sit down, won’t you?”

Saihara sits on the bed, across from Amami. For a moment, he takes in the features of his friend; soft, green hair, kindness in his eyes, but a troubled expression pushing its way onto his face.

“I…I got something,” Amami starts, “a perk, of sorts. I don’t particularly understand it, but it’s called a _‘survivor perk’._ I wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t my first killing game.”

“O-Oh,” Saihara replies, “that’s…interesting. Perhaps we could - I don’t know - utilise that?”

“Perhaps we could,” Amami says, his face and demeanour not betraying any of his emotions, “but that’s not what I’m here for. You see - this _survivor perk_ gave me a few advantages, one of which was the ability to see all the student profiles of the students here. And I was just looking through them yesterday, and I saw that your birthday was today. So - happy birthday.”

“T-Thanks,” Saihara says.

“I got you something. Just something little.”

He holds out something small, wrapped in bright paper that Saihara is sure he bought from the shop. Tentatively, he smiles and begins to unwrap the package; he’s never really had a birthday present before, so he’s unsure what to expect or how to react. Once he’s finished tearing the paper, he finds a moleskin notebook inside. It’s modest, but beautiful; soft, brown exterior housing beautiful, cream pages inside. He allows himself the luxury of turning the unmarked pages, and feeling the smooth, untouched, precious, almost-silk allows him a happiness that he hasn’t truly had before.

“Thank you, Amami,” he says, “this is wonderful.”

“It’s nothing, really. I just didn’t want your birthday to pass you by in the chaos of…whatever this shit is.”

“It’s something I’ve always wanted - a beautiful notebook. My parents never…” he trails off, too embarrassed to finish that thought. He’s actually ashamed that he even started admitting that out loud.

“No, it’s okay,” Amami says, “I understand.”

“You do?”

“My parents never really…understood me, either.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a moment, not awkwardly, but contently - Saihara has never felt completely comfortable before, but he’s closer now than he ever was before the killing game. Looking into Amami’s eyes, he sees a great expanse of knowledge.

“I want to know you,” he says. Amami looks startled.

“You…want to know me?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know you know more than you’re letting on about this whole killing game, but that’s not it. I just…I want to understand you, y’know?”

“I get that, Saihara. I want to understand you, too.”

“I think…I think I could let you do that, Amami,” Saihara says.

“We could start with…simple things,” Amami says, “like…what’s your favourite colour?”

“I…uh…blue, I guess.”

“Mine’s green…naturally.”

“I think,” Saihara says, nervously, “I could…trust you. I know you’re not the mastermind.”

“Good,” Amami replies, “I trust you, too. Monokuma’s motive hasn’t exactly given us much time together, but I’d like to spend at least some of it with you. Happy birthday, Saihara. I’ll see you soon.”

Just like that, Amami leaves.

* * *

 

_When Saihara investigates the library with Kaede, he swears that his nerves have been singed off. He is emotionless; he can’t face what lies before him. The person he trusted, he loved, and lost. That’s just how killing games work._

_He hates himself for being so weak._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all liked this! Please comment if you did :^)
> 
> Title from 'The World Ender' by Lord Huron.


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